Broken Juliet (18 page)

Just sex.

He opens the door then pauses. “So … is it going to be weird between us now?”

“You mean more weird No.”

He nods. “No. Exactly. I mean, it was just breakup sex, right? Everyone does it.”

“Right.”
Just sex
. “We might have waited a little longer than most, but it’s totally normal.”

“It’s out of our systems now, so, we can … you know … move on.”

“Yeah. Absolutely. Move on.”

He inhales and stares at the exposed flesh my robe reveals.

He talks to my boobs. “See you Monday?” At last he makes it up to my face.

I want to tell him to stop it. The longing that’s peeking out. It’s too much. This was
just sex.

“Yep. See you then.”

He hesitates, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he hugs me and buries his head in my neck. I’m not sure what he’s thinking, but it feels like
thank you
and
I’m sorry
all wrapped up in one.

It makes me feel things. Buried and bound things.

I push him away. I don’t want him to go, but I need him to.

He seems to understand. Shoves his hands in his pockets and lets out a disbelieving sigh.

“You smell like me. Like me and … sex.”

He fingers the tie of my robe. “I mean, you’ve always smelled like sex to me, but today … you smell like the very definition of incredible, earth-moving, seeing-the-face-of-God sex.”

This man. Forever stealing my breath.

We have a moment of
maybe once more
before we both realize there’s no way. Our bodies are done.

I push him out the door. “Get out while you can. Thanks for all the sex.”

All the
just sex.

“Yeah. Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

After I close the door, I collapse against it, breathless and aching. I expect the regret and bitterness to swallow me, but strangely, it doesn’t. Instead, I’m smiling.

I did it. I fucked Ethan Holt and survived. Thrived, even. And now, I’m too filled with satisfaction to regret what we did.

Later, I feel bad when I take a shower and change my sheets, but it’s only because I can’t smell him on me anymore.

It’s at that moment a dull ticking starts up inside me. It pulses in my blood and keeps time with my heart. When I think of Ethan, it speeds up.

A countdown clock. A slow detonator.

Cataloguing the seconds until he makes me explode again.

When Ruby arrives home mid-afternoon, she flops down next to me on the couch.

“Hey.”

She also has Hagrid hair and a satisfied smile. Seems good sex looks the same on everyone.

My hair’s washed. I’ve untangled the sex knots.

No one would ever know that just five hours ago, Holt had it wrapped around his hands as he took me from behind.

“Hey,” I say and push the image away. “Have a good night?”

She stretches. “Oh, yeah. God, there is nothing … and I mean
nothing
to relieve tension like riding a hot piece of man-meat all night. It’s like a full-body massage from the inside out. You really need to try it one of these days. I know you think Buzz is all you need right now, but honey … there’s only so much fake dick a girl can take before she needs to rumble with the real deal.”

He tugs my head back and grips my hip to hold me in place as he thrusts, strong and deep. He hits unexpected places inside me. Kisses my shoulder as I swear and call out his name.

I eat a spoonful of yogurt and try to keep my face impassive. “Uh-huh.”

She leans against me. “So, what did you get up to after the party? The usual? Book and bed?”

I nod. “Yep. You know me. Boring old Cassie.”

I lower myself onto him, prideful as I watch his eyes roll back into his head. My body trembles with the effort of containing this power. This magnificent, confident version of myself. Sex-Goddess Cassie. I ride him slowly, drag him to the edge of climax so often he starts to beg. Punish him by weaponizing his pleasure. Reward him by letting him see mine. Time and again.

“Poor baby,” Ruby says as she snuggles up to me. “You need sex.”

I fan myself. My blood is pumping way too fast. Too close to the surface. Hot and demanding.

“Yeah, well. Maybe one day.”

I don’t know why I don’t tell her. Maybe because she’d take it the wrong way and think Ethan and I are getting back together, when we’re absolutely not. Or maybe because she’d confirm it was the worst thing I could have done.

Whatever her reaction, I don’t want it right now. I just want to enjoy this feeling of relative bliss. Before Ethan drove me home last night, I was miserable and lonely, and today I feel … empowered. Like a sexual genius. I did things to Ethan I’d only ever dreamed about. I made him shudder. Groan and plead. I dominated him and let him dominate me in return. I was able to give him pleasure like no one else ever has. Then I made him admit it and brought him completely undone.

After being powerless for so long, I finally feel like I have some control.

And what’s more, I managed to have him without drowning in unwanted emotion. I kept myself shielded and protected, even while he filled me in ways no other man ever will.

Sexual catharsis? Is there such a thing?

If so, that’s what Ethan and I shared.

I just wonder how long it will be until we both need to be purged again.

Monday morning. I walk to class feeling a thousand feet tall. I still hurt, but it only serves to remind me of my power. I’m Aphrodite. A force of nature, ready to be worshipped.

I should be nervous about seeing Ethan, but I’m not. Whatever happens, I can deal with it. I’ll smile if he shuts me down, because I’ll know he won’t be able to resist me for long. I own him. And he knows it.

I walk into class and immediately feel him staring at me. He looks angry.

Wait, not angry.

Hungry.

He glances away, but it’s only a few seconds before he’s back. Surprised. Awed.

The
tick-tock
inside me speeds up. Gives me a powerful thrill. I’d kind of expected him to retreat back into his emotionally distant shell, but for once, he’s not being totally predictable.

I like it.

With only a trace of his trademark fear, he gives me a lusty half smile. I give one back. I feel like we’re collaborators in a private joke. No one else has any idea what happened between us, but if he keeps looking at me like that, they’re going to realize pretty damn quickly.

I walk past him and whisper, “Stop undressing me with your eyes.”

He whispers back, “Would you rather I do it with my hands? Or teeth?”

Oh, this is interesting. He wants to play? Fine. For once, I’m confident I’ll win.

“How’s your penis?”

“You don’t know by now? It’s magnificent.”

“So conceited. I meant, are you sore?”

“Oh. Yeah. There’s definite … chafing. He’s exhausted, to be honest. I doubt I’ll ever be hard again.”

I give him a slow smile. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“It’s really not.”

I accidentally/on purpose drop my book and bend over in front of him to pick it up.

Then I glance behind me to see him wincing and adjusting himself.

My work here is done.

The rest of the class chatters and moves around us, oblivious. We barely register on their radar anymore. We’re old news.

If only they knew.

I sit down, and when I turn back to Ethan, he’s crossed his legs and is staring at his shoes, his face still painted with discomfort. And arousal.

It looks good on him.

“I thought we agreed it was a mistake,” he says, not looking at me.

“We did.”

“Then why do I get the impression you’d like to do it again? Right now.”

I whisper, “Even if I do, it doesn’t mean I’m going to. I’m not that stupid.”

“Oh.”

“You look disappointed.”

“Nope. Just … you know … relieved.”

I lean closer so my mouth is right next to his ear. I know what I’m doing. If this were chess, I’d be demolishing his queen right about now. “Relieved I won’t be taking you in my mouth again? Riding you? Scraping my nails down your back as I come?”

In the past, I never really understood why girls play games and use their gender and sex appeal to get what they want.

I understand it now.

Sometimes sex is the only thing that will bring a man to his knees. And sometimes, it does a girl good to know that after losing so much, she can occasionally win.

After seeing how affected Holt is by my words, I sit back, triumphant.

He closes his eyes. Then he adjusts himself again. “Yep. Definitely relieved none of that is going to happen again. So very … happy … about that.”

“Good.”

Checkmate.

It doesn’t escape my attention that he’s hard for nearly the entire lecture.

SIXTEEN

LITTLE ACHE

Present Day

New York City, New York

The Apartment of Cassandra Taylor

I sit up and clutch my chest as sweat and the too-real remnants of his dream-hands prickle my skin. My heart is pounding. It makes all the wrong places ache for him.

It’s the memory of him that really sets my nerve endings into overdrive. The phantom brush of his fingers. The ghostly weight of his hips pressing against my thighs. The soft noises as he rocked and filled and exploded me.

Is it any wonder I have trouble taking things slow with him when he affects me like this?

After a quick shower to cool myself down, I pull out another of his journals. I’m tired and my eyes are gritty, but I can’t seem to stop reading. Getting inside his head is like a drug.

I spoke to him on the phone last night. It’s easier to deal with him when we’re not face to face. When we’re together, he has this way of staring at me that almost has me convinced he can melt my clothing with the power of his mind. It drives me crazy. At least on the phone, I have some insulation. Plus, if his voice gets too much, I can always hump my pillow, and he’s none the wiser.

Not that I’d do that.

Much.

We didn’t talk for long. He wanted to check how I was and apologized for molesting me at dinner on Saturday night. I told him it wasn’t entirely his fault. He promised to try to keep his hands to himself. Certain parts of me booed.

He asked about the journals. I told him I’d almost reached the end of our first year at The Grove, then we both went quiet as if caught up in our own thoughts of that time.

This morning I found all of his journals from our second and third years waiting on my doorstep, along with a bottle of Valium. I think it was his idea of a joke. If I hadn’t felt so nauseated, I might have laughed.

As it is, I’m wading through entries that make me simultaneously weepy and horny. I may have thrown something at a wall about an hour ago. Tristan has understandably been avoiding me.

So far, entries from our second year have been few and far between. Curt. Almost boring. I’d expected long prose passages about how much he missed me while we were apart, but I got the opposite. Like he’d shut down.

Then, I see the entry for the day after the night that changed everything.

February 11th

Last night. Jesus.

How do I even describe it?

Stupid? Yeah.

Beyond amazing? Hell yeah.

The best night of my life? Absolutely.

I’d like to say I have no idea how it happened, but that’s not true. I was drunk but not that drunk. I knew when I sat next to her what I was doing. I knew when I touched her face. When I leaned in to taste those fucking amazing lips I’d been staring at all night.

When she started kissing me back? That’s when I knew I couldn’t stop. No amount of logic or fear could have stopped me then. The tequila was a good excuse, but the truth is, I wanted it. More than anything in my entire life.

Lucky for me, she wanted it, too.

I can’t put into words how it felt to finally touch her again. I’ve fantasized about it too many times to count, and then it happened, and I got lost in sensation after not feeling anything for way too long. Nothing has ever felt as right as being inside her. The moment I sank into her … fuck. It felt like my chest was going to explode. Too much emotion. Too much love.

Too much everything.

I tried to tell myself it was just fucking, but I knew it wasn’t. It never could be with her. As much as I like to think I’m getting desensitized to how she affects me, I know it’s bullshit. I’m desensitized as long as she doesn’t touch me. Or look at me. Otherwise, I want to launch myself across the room and tackle her. Kiss her until she can’t stand up. Make love to her until she can’t sit down.

Pretty sure I achieved both of those things on Friday night. And again this morning.

The bastard part of me hopes she’s sore and that every time she winces, she remembers the feel of me deep inside her.

Fuck.

Now I’m hard again.

I can’t masturbate. I seriously can’t. Apart from how I’d probably scream in agony if I even looked at my cock right now, I just couldn’t go back to fucking my hand when I’ve known the perfection of being inside her. There’s no way.

I know we agreed it was stupid and that we shouldn’t do it again, but I want to.

If I wasn’t such a pussy, I’d ask her if we could try again, but I know that’s not an option. I’ve screwed things up so badly with us, I don’t think they’ll ever be right, no matter how much I want them to be. Plus, despite how amazing our sex marathon was, it doesn’t change how my brain works. It just gave it something more pleasurable to focus on than all the ways the universe can screw me.

Still, the distraction is addictive. If I have sex often enough with her, would it make me feel like I could make things work between us?